


a ballad in dark luxury and false opulence ✨

by AlejandroAsher



Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Fame, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Youtubers, Celebrity Crush, Closeted, Closeted Character, Dreams and Nightmares, Fame, Fanboys - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internet Famous, M/M, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Scandal, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlejandroAsher/pseuds/AlejandroAsher
Summary: When Dante Quintana, a rising YouTuber and actor, is guest-cast as famous teen actor Ari Mendoza's love interest in an internationally successful Netflix series, their on-stage romance blossoms into an unspoken, surreptitious off-stage series of rendezvous. But Ari has been closeted for quite some time, and the opening of those doors might lead to the downfall of his success under the scrutinizing eagle eyes of Hollywood's entertainment industry.OR:A look at batshit fandom culture under the lens of a fantasy I've had ever since I started watching a particular TV show and fell head over heels for a particular cast member, and I'm now writing this partially to live vicariously through Dante.Based onDance in the Darkby Lady Gaga andXSby Rina Sawayama.
Relationships: Aristotle Mendoza/Dante Quintana
Comments: 23
Kudos: 23





	1. say i'm neither

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aristotle doesn't like his interviewer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this fucking big brain idea a few nights ago and I can't wait to finish it. I promise I'm actually going to be updating this one; I've already begun writing the second chapter, and I have an outline. Don't worry :)
> 
> This fic is largely based on two songs: _XS_ by Rina Sawayama, and _Dance in the Dark_ by Lady Gaga. Every chapter title is a lyric from one of those two songs. I highly recommend both of these songs, by the way, especially the former. Rina Sawayama is a queen and she deserves WAY more recognition. 
> 
> Anyways, this is an extremely self-indulgent actor x fanboy YouTuber fic that I knew I was going to end up writing at some point. I hope you all enjoy. :)

> _“Call me crazy,_ _  
> _ _Call me selfish,_ _  
> _ _Say I’m neither_ _  
> _ _Would you believe her?”_
> 
> —Rina Sawayama, _XS_

**01**

Aristotle’s throat was drier than it normally was, felt smaller than it normally should. His palms began to get sweaty, and he found it harder and harder to force that brilliantly-white smile on his face, that smile that the cameras would instantly flash at, that teenagers with fan pages on Instagram would immediately screenshot, store away, and make video edits out of. His back suddenly crawled with anxiety, the sensation akin to a million bugs creeping up his back at once. It became just a little more difficult to withstand being trapped in this black-and-white tux that he decided to show up to a taping of “After Dark with James McCain” in, that would air on national television tomorrow night. Aristotle had to will himself not to rake his manicured nails across his back and take off his blazer—the only thing preventing him from doing so was, of course, the fact that his manager would hit him upside the head, and he’d never hear the end of it from his mother. Sixteen years was far too young to have a teenage boy worry about such things, and was much too young to thrust a boy into the spotlight and allow him to stand under the microscope of society and the scrutiny of Hollywood. He observed the regular teenagers who walked the streets of Los Angeles, the ones who undoubtedly had heard of him and his TV show, envious of how they could walk down a street with their friends and boyfriends and girlfriends, wearing and doing whatever they want without any consequences. No image to maintain. No reputation to uphold. No people to disappoint. _What a life that must be_ , he thought.

But instead, Aristotle had to be cursed with an excellent and precocious acting talent. Whoever decided to toggle the “actor” switch while leaving the “extrovert” switch disabled on whatever settings menu was responsible for spawning him and his future would rot in hell, Aristotle had decided long ago. He clearly wasn’t made for such a life, wasn’t anywhere near the ideal candidate for America’s most beloved teen actor. Aristotle could and has gone on hour-long rants about this, rants about how male actors of color in Hollywood would only be successful as long as they were strikingly handsome and obscenely physically fit, while white male actors would be able to get away with a 5-o’clock shadow and a beer belly and have a multi-million dollar acting career. The fact that the Internet only cared about Aristotle because he was unlucky enough to age even better than fine wine in the span of only two years filled him with a rage so powerful it made his mouth taste sanguine. 

Perhaps Aristotle’s acting performance as a 13-year-old in the film _Only Time Will Tell_ , a drama movie about a young boy who learns to care for his mother after she is diagnosed with terminal cancer, was incredibly impressive for someone his age. Even he got chills rewatching the scene in which his character was bent over his mother’s deathbed, sobbing and pouring his heart out while his mother’s ghost stood behind him and held him by the shoulders, desperate for her son to hear her despite the fact that they no longer shared the same plane of existence. That infamous scene near the end of the movie damn near broke the Internet. No one could get enough of the young cutie who made everyone sob their hearts out. At the screenings of the movie that Aristotle went to, there was never a dry eye in the cinema except for both his own. Then came the invitations to late-night and daytime talk shows, the sudden influx of Instagram and Twitter followers, and the development of a fandom that Aristotle still wasn’t incredibly aware of nor did he totally understand. 

Then Aristotle turned 16 years old about 5 months ago, and the Internet broke once again at the young boy’s glow-up. Side-by-side pictures of thirteen-year-old Aristotle in _Only Time Will Tell_ and his current state, which was suddenly much taller, a more defined jawline, much longer, dark brown hair, complete with the muscles on his torso and arms, flooded Twitter timelines and Instagram home feeds. The thirst comments on behalf of the touch-deprived gays, confused hetero boys, and hormonal teenage girls flooded in, the vast majority of which actually made him rather uncomfortable, and it led Aristotle to minimize his social media presence—much to the chagrin of his entire fandom, the vast majority of whom didn’t possess enough self-awareness to identify themselves as the catalyst for Aristotle’s absence.

Perhaps, then, all the members of his fandom (who called themselves “the Philosophers”) were rather well-fed when the first season of _Dance in the Dark_ , the comedy-drama television series that he had been cast in, finally aired. It was available on national American television, and after an international distribution deal was made with Netflix, the series was marketed overseas as a Netflix Original Series and the ratings absolutely exploded. And as the popularity of the TV show grew, so did Aristotle’s.

He wanted to curse Netflix like _una bruja_ for making him so famous.

One thing led to another, and now he was here, making an appearance as a guest on “After Dark with James McCain” to talk about the third season of _Dance in the Dark_ . And he loved his show—he really did, he would swear on it—but he thought he might have enjoyed it more if only he could’ve been audience member and not the fucking leading role. And not only because being cast in the role of a young queer boy led Aristotle to learn some things about himself he certainly wouldn’t have otherwise—no, because the leading role was always the one who got the TV show interviews, was always the one who gained the most attention from the media, and _especially_ as a teenage boy, was always the one who was asked suffocatingly-obnoxious questions like the one McCain just asked his guest:

“So, Ari, tell us about your girlfriend.”

That wasn’t much of a question at all, which above all, might’ve been what pissed Ari off the most. The only part of that sentence he liked was the word _Ari,_ and that was only because “Ari” was the nickname he preferred over his actual name, “Aristotle.” The only instances he can think of where he’s used his actual first name was in his Instagram and Twitter usernames (@aristotle), and… that was it. Besides his aesthetic social media name, he didn’t like his real name, not one bit.

Ari forced a short laugh, and continued to smile. He glanced fleetingly at one of the giant cameras surrounding him. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he asserted, trying harder than hard to come off as lighthearted by leaning back in his chair and putting his elbows up on the armrests. “If you so badly need confirmation that I’m single, go ask my co-star Gina. She pesters me about it every day, and I’m about up to here with her b—crap.” He held his hand horizontally up above his head to demonstrate how close he was to snapping at Gina, and abruptly stopped himself from cursing on live TV. The only people whom he would swear in front of would be his brother Bernardo, father, and his manager Jessica, but even then, that was only when he was alone with any of them. 

“Aw, come on!” James said, completely oblivious to his insensitivity and obnoxiousness. _Self-unaware people: the scum of the earth,_ Ari thought to himself. If he had said the exact same words that just came out of his mouth, but in a tone that more accurately depicted his emotions, McCain would be backing the fuck off. That much he knew. “Not even _one_ girl that you’re into?”

Ari sighed. _Don’t commit manslaughter just yet, Ari. Not today._ “Alright, I’ll say a name.”

The audience gasped and went “ooh!” immediately. They suddenly froze and leaned forward in their seats. The tension in the room was nothing short of palpable, and it threatened to choke not only the teenage Philosophers in the audience who were clad in hoodies and T-shirts either from Ari’s merch store or the _Dance in the Dark_ store, but also the Philosophers watching live at home, _and_ later the Philosophers who were already asleep who would see the interview on YouTube the morning after.

Ari stayed silent for several seconds, eliciting a raise of the eyebrow out of James and a few anxious shouts from the audience. “Well?”

The teen actor’s eyebrows lifted themselves mischievously when Ari briefly caught his lower lip between his white teeth. “Oh, I never said I’d say it to _you._ ” 

The words left Ari’s mouth with an extremely smug, little-shit smile. He allowed himself to feel proud for bamboozling the entire nation. Half the audience broke into laughter and half broke into exhausted groans, and Ari secretly wished that _La llorona_ would come to get everyone who groaned. _You think_ this _is annoying, try being in_ my _fucking place, you narcissists._ He found solace in the fact that he had irritated a good many people here, however. He let himself smile and chuckle because of that. Ari relaxed in his armchair once again, crossing his legs and letting his elbow rest at the top of the backrest.

“Well played, Mr. Mendoza,” McCain acknowledged. “Well played.”

Ari very well might have blacked out or dropped dead for the rest of the interview for as much as he cared about how well it went. As soon as he found his way back to his dressing room, he immediately undid the single-windsor knot he’d done his red necktie with and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his collar shirt, letting his blazer fall to the floor. _Breathe._ He didn’t know how it was possible to sweat so damn much on such a frigid television stage. The theater this late-night show was filmed at was extraordinarily cold, and somehow, Ari was never more uncomfortable. So was the set of his own show, actually. Perhaps he’d just grown desensitized to low temperatures—an impressive feat for anything or anyone to accomplish, given that his parents had immigrated to the United States from blazing-hot Mexico when he was just 10 years old. 

How proud he was of his parents for being able to accomplish something so grand! Immigrants were the most hard-working people in the United States, hands-down. His throat tightened once again thinking about the later years of his childhood and the commencement of his tween years. So many _pendejos_ totally unaware of their privilege, totally blind to how valuable of a thing diversity truly was. He'd heard them all: "illegal," "drug dealer," "beaner," "wetback," "gangbanger." There were also a few more creative slurs that, in the moment, he never fully understood. And, of course, this only led to him being bullied even _more_ for his naïveté. And that was just what he was dealing with at school; his parents were struggling to find jobs and learn adequate English. As was he! He'd only been taught English for a year in Mexico prior to moving to the United States, and insecure about his English ability he very much still was.

The opportunity to star in _Only Time Will Tell_ , when his big break came, was what prompted his quest to bilingualism and his parents' immigration in the first place. _That was one really good thing_ , he'd decided. At least he was able to find a path to permanent residence for himself and his parents through the employment sponsorship system, however fucked it was back then and is today. He'd come to the US on an O-1B visa, which was for "persons with extraordinary ability in the arts or extraordinary achievement in the motion picture or television industry," and his parents had come on an O-3 visa, which was for immediate family members of O-1 or O-2 visa holders; had his parents decided to wait any longer, they wouldn't have been able to use their O-3 visas, as they were now limited to just spouses and children, much less would they have been able to turn those visas into green cards, allowing them to remain legally. His parents wouldn't have to worry for years about whether they would be deported or not, nor would Ari have to preoccupy himself so damn much with his performance in school, because now he could fall back on his newfound acting career. The same boys who would push him down in the hallway and mock his Latin accent would now be so jealous of him for how he needn’t take the SAT or the ACT, or pay attention in any of his classes, and the sheer amount of girls who would openly throw themselves at him--not that he was ever interested in any of them.

Being a Mexican immigrant slowly became something he wasn't so much ashamed of as he was proud of. He liked being able to cuss an idiot out in two languages instead of just one. He liked the fact that his skin was so dark; brown skin was beautiful and he’d die on that hill. He loved his culture, loved his food, loved the fact that his family whom he mostly couldn't stand was an entire country away from him. And while his Mexican pride was great, slowly, something within him settled into his consciousness that he wasn't able to push away.

Unfortunately, whichever idiot decided it was a good idea to toggle "actor" and not "extrovert" in his creation menu also thought it a good idea to select "homosexual" out of the list of orientations. 

He began to suspect something was up when he never, not once in his life, found himself interested in girls but began to sweat when he saw pictures of who his male co-stars on his TV show might end up becoming. And the anxiety attacks he’d have up against the door in his dressing room, as a young boy cast in the role of a queer boy slowly discovering his sexuality were something he’d never spoken about, to anyone. He never dared speak his mind about this or utter the fact that he might've been queer—he was too afraid of any labels to go to his parents, or tell his manager Jessica, or make any sort of post about on social media. _If their plan was to turn me gay by making me pretend to be gay until I didn’t have to anymore, it worked,_ Ari once thought to himself. Ari could barely even fathom asking someone about it over the Internet anonymously. _Ugh_. The thought of coming out at all made him shudder still. It almost made him throw his lunch up one time. 

He leaned against the countertop, staring down at the sink right in front of this giant, flawless mirror. Ari looked at his reflection. Here he was, a teen actor with more money than he knew what to do with, better luck in the immigration system than the vast majority of Mexican migrants, ignoring countless girls and boys throwing themselves at him in his DMs every minute of every day, possessing strikingly unique and attractive features that were most certainly not held by everyone, especially people of his age, or even people that were older. At least, _this_ is what the world saw. What Ari saw when he stared at his own reflection was a boy with too much dumb luck who just needed some goddamn alone time. That was it. What sort of crimes he'd commit to achieve a week, just _seven days_ of total peace and quiet, of total mundaneness without having to speak or look at anyone, or attend any interviews, or play pretend in front of any cameras—both ones belonging to paparazzi and television show sets.

Ari pulled his phone out of his pocket and found his manager Jessica in his Messages app. She, and her profile picture that depicted the weird blue-and-orange Pokémon whose name Ari could never remember, were always situated at the top of his messages. She was damn near the only person Ari ever talked to.

It was only when he opened his conversation with her that he remembered the Pokémon’s name was Mudkip, and he could hear Jessica’s voice in his head scolding him now: _“His name is Mudkip, Aristotle! Get it right!” she hissed, willing herself not to detach both the red and blue Joy-Cons from the sides of her Nintendo Switch and chuck them at Ari’s smug, smiling face._ The memory made him grin, if only fleetingly.

> **[8:02 PM] i never want to come back on mccain...**
> 
> **[8:02 PM] how obvious was it that i was uncomfortable asf**

Jessica wrote back startlingly quickly.

> _[8:02 PM] Pretty damn obvious to me, Aristotle, but maybe not to everyone else. You're a good actor, and I know you well. If you’re lucky, everyone bought it._

The possibility that not everyone bought Ari’s completely fake act was one that both Jessica and Ari should be very, very worried about, but somehow, neither one of them could muster up the energy to panic about it. So many things had happened to Ari since his climb to fame, so many wild hoaxes and “scandals” that people obviously made up to get clout on Twitter, that things that would usually be career-ending for most people were just second nature for Ari and Jessica.

> **[8:02 PM] ok then**
> 
> **[8:03 PM] when can we fucking leave??**

Ari set his phone down on the countertop with the screen still on as he made his way to the closet doors (ha) and unbuttoned his collar shirt. He opted instead to wear a long-sleeved light grey article that stopped just before his belly button that might've been placed on the less revealing side of the crop-top spectrum. Ari paired the top with a pair of grey sweatpants that matched the top's color. He rolled up the bottom hems of the sweatpant legs, as if he was cuffing his jeans. 

Whilst putting on his clothes, and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he was reminded of the first time he publicly wore this outfit. Jessica had picked it out for him, of course, since no one was more apathetic about clothes and fashion than Ari was, and unfortunately, physical appearance matters a lot as an actor of color. Ari walked out of the fitting room, pleasantly surprised to find that he didn’t hate the outfit. It was the only time he could remember being even _kind of_ excited about clothes—quite literally every other instance was one in which Jessica held him hostage in his hotel room for hours while he tried on numerous different clothes she and the costume designers of _Dance in the Dark_ bought him. 

And that was just when he was _off-set._ On-set, Ari could swear that he spends more time changing clothes than actually filming. Whether this statistic was just distorted or exaggerated by Ari’s distaste for fashion, one may never know.

As he was putting on his white tennis shoes, a tone emitted from Ari's phone.

> _[8:06 PM] Once you're done in your dressing room._

Ari sent a text that simply read "Ready" as soon as he was out of his dressing room. He couldn't have climbed into the limousine and returned to his temporary residential hotel room soon enough.

* * *

"So what was bothering you tonight, Aristotle?" Jessica couldn't help but ask her question as soon as the both of them were back in Ari's hotel room. Ari plopped down in his bed, eagerly sneaking under the covers and lying on his back, head propped up slightly by the fluffy white pillow beneath. He sighed, opting not to groan at Jessica's continued use of his full first name. He'd stopped attempting to get her to call him “Ari” a long time ago; he was pretty sure the day he'd finally quit saying “It's Ari” was when they were halfway through filming the first season.

"I don't like people asking me about my non-existent girlfriend," Ari sighed.

Jessica sat at the foot of Ari's bed. “You want to talk about it?”

Ari shook his head. "Nah. It's nothing you haven't heard before." 

It was, in fact, something she hadn't heard before. 

Ari was still closeted to all the people in his life. Not his mother, nor his father, nor his dear manager Jessica, who was the closest thing he had to a sibling (given his fractured relationships with his three actual siblings), knew that Ari was not who he said he was. The fear, the pure terror of saying the two cursed words "I'm gay" was something Ari was already struggling to swallow. He thought that his sexuality was a secret he either might have to just die with, or procrastinate dealing with until he's pressured to marry a woman when he's older… but perhaps that pressure was coming even faster than it normally would. 

Magazines and gossip news outlets would speculate about whether Ari was dating whatever girl actress or singer or YouTuber he was ever seen with. Every day, there was a new headline guessing if Ari had slept with [insert female name here]. Deadass: he once saw an article on Twitter complaining about the media's constant speculation of celebrity relationships that was entitled "Did Ari Mendoza sleep with [Insert Female Name Here]?" It made him laugh, harder than it should have, and not just because the article called out the gossip tabloids that were so invasive, they even speculated about Ari’s _sex_ life, not just his dating life. He was still a minor, and would be for two more years.

If the media could shit its pants _this_ hard about a relationship or a sexual rendezvous that didn't even exist or happen, he didn't want to know what they'd do if he ever decided to admit that he was gay, or even dating a boy.

 _Dating boys._ Ugh. That was something else he wanted to do, sometime, somehow, and it was something he acrimoniously envied non-famous regular teenage boys for being able to do so much easier than him. He respected that anyone in the closet would have a hard time finding a relationship, but when under the television and motion picture industry's eye, it became damn near impossible to sustain a closet relationship. On top of that, it wasn't like Ari had ever known any boys that he actually found to be a worthy contender for his unconditional love and support. Every boy his age was a damn idiot. Why the fuck was no boy he ever got to know hot or smart enough? It was irritating, how he simultaneously couldn't deny that he wasn't straight, but that he also hated men at the same time. 

A quagmire, indeed.

Jessica prided herself on being a human lie detector, and it was something she'd have to stop doing if Ari were ever to open the closet doors. She had no doubt in her mind that Ari was simply exhausted of the spotlight, and not actually horrified to reveal a truth about himself. "Alright, then," she said, heading towards the door of his hotel room. "I'll leave you at peace now, I guess." 

Ari smiled. "Thanks." He wasn’t sure if Jessica thought she genuinely bothered him, which she didn’t. He figured bringing such a topic up was irrelevant—even if Jessica and Ari didn’t like each other, they’d still have to work together. They would have to find a way to make it work, and it seems that they have.

His entire life since starring in _Only Time Will Tell_ has consisted of adapting, getting used to uncomfortable environments, adjusting. Finding a way to make anything work, no matter how unpleasant or how badly it’d fuck him over. _When the going gets tough, the tough get going_ was a mantra Aristotle Mendoza didn’t want to have to live by.

It almost made him laugh, how everyone thought being famous was something so fun and easy and you could just ride the wave of money you made every second of every day all the way to success and beyond. You’d have your name remembered for centuries to come, your performances and art immortalized in the form of DVDs, streaming video, IMDb webpages, pirated .mp4 files. You’d relish in the title of “teen heartthrob” that a magazine or poster decided to award you with. You’d smile and maybe even cry at the edits your teen fans made you. You’d actually _enjoy_ pointing to that mug on the talk show host’s desk and going, “Is this mine?” Perhaps Ari just wasn’t so good at being famous. He was pretty sure every other public figure in the _world_ was better at managing their fame than he was. No, not even managing—just straight-up _liking_ it. He’d have his picture taken while wearing a crown and sitting cross-legged in a golden throne only to go home to a bed of nails and needles without a pillow or blankets.

Jessica’s dark-skinned finger with long nails painted pink flicked the light switch off. "I'll see you tomorrow. Six o'clock."

"Six o'clock," Ari murmured by rote, as were so many other things in his life. Scheduled, maintained, created by an external force.

Jessica nodded before closing the door on Ari Mendoza, leaving him behind in a lavish hotel room and among a million anxieties packaged into boxes that were just waiting to burst open and leave the room a bleeding, gory mess of dismembered demons and fragmented pieces of his own heart. The key these boxes were kept locked under would be found upon Ari’s commencement of the rapid-eye-movement sleep stage. The fifth step to sleeping, the one in which _dreaming_ started to happen.

Whether Ari had nightmares almost every night or not was between the pillow and he. “How’d you sleep, Aristotle?” was the first question out of Jessica’s mouth nearly every damn morning, and it had driven Ari crazy since the first morning she asked. He thought he’d had enough of that and that he wasn’t going to experience it any longer once he finally moved out of his parents’ place (even if it was just temporarily for the filming of a season of TV), but he’d been proven wrong, as life tends to do to him.

Behind the yawn and the apathetic “It was fine” that he gave Jessica every morning, there was the suppression of a million different nightmares that all came to terrorize him night after night, sleep cycle after sleep cycle, hour after hour. If he had half a penny for each time he’d woken up in the middle of the night, only to go to the bathroom and stare at his lethargic and zombified reflection in the mirror with the lights on, effectively ruining his already-small chances at returning to a restful sleep, he’d obliterate the wealth of even Amazon’s CEO. Insomnia might’ve been a condition he would’ve been able to be diagnosed with, if an essential feature of insomnia was uncontrollable and horrifying nightmares that didn’t seem to faze you so much once you actually woke up. If Ari was a YouTuber (which he’d always vowed never to be) and he vlogged during his sleepless nights, his viewers would not ever suspect that Ari’s nightmares left him rattled at his core. They wouldn’t suspect that they made him cry in his sleep, or that he once woke up from one with a nausea so overwhelming he stood bent over the toilet bowl for several minutes, expecting to make a mess, only for nothing at all to come up. 

The nightmares were about lots of things. What, exactly, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell you off the top of his head. He once dreamt that Jessica slaughtered him and disposed of his body in a river. Another night, his subconscious decided to dazzle him with visions of being awarded an Emmy, and his beloved parents collapsing to the floor and bleeding out of their mouths upon the delivery of his acceptance speech. One time he saw his co-stars on _Dance in the Dark_ beat him to death with baseball bats when they found him on a date with a faceless boy instead of showing up to a taping. After _that_ nightmare, he’d woken up in tears, but Ari did nothing about it other than wipe his teardrops with his forearms and begin his day.

He was pretty sure of what prompted all these gruesome things. Ari Mendoza didn’t want to know why so many of his nightmares revolved around a theme of being killed for loving a boy. He figured long ago that they were simply predictions or manifestations of the future, took that idea, and shoved it into a box and locked it away. That box is just one of the many that decides to open upon the moon’s rising, the sun’s setting, the lights’ cessation, and the doors’ closing.

Ari decided to turn on the television in front of his bed, change it to an uninteresting cable news channel—one that wouldn’t blab about his supposed relationship with so-and-so—set it to an unintelligible volume, and closed his eyes, wondering what new terror awaited him tonight.

_It all started when they brought out the bottled water._

_“You’re going to have to sell this, Aristotle,” is what they told me when they were taking the orange bottles out of the boxes and placing them on the tables and in my hands. I didn’t know where I was—it looked like I was on the set of QVC or something, and I was about to attempt to sell products during those 3:00 AM paid programming television blocks. “You've got a quota. Make sure you hit it.”_

_I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why they wanted_ _me_ _to do it; I didn’t see how I would be of any use or how I could sell a product better than they could, but I did. I just did. I got up on that stage and read from the teleprompter, trying not to make a dumb mistake like that one Vine where that guy slipped and fell on his ass. There was no way for me to gauge how I was doing, since there was no in-studio audience or way to tell what the producers were thinking. I also didn’t know what my quota was. I didn’t know how much money I was supposed to be making._

_“More, Ari!” they shouted. “Just a little bit more!” But I didn’t make it._

_They told me, “You didn’t reach your quota! You didn’t fucking sell enough water!” They poured water all over me, letting it run and rain on me as sparks flew out of me and I collapsed on the floor. I was a robot, and I wasn’t waterproof. They’d dragged me backstage and tried to muffle my screams with duct tape as they continued to pour water over me, like that would quicken my death. Then they threw me out, tossed me in the trash and found someone else to sell bottled water for them. A passerby threw their empty water bottle onto me, onto the pile of garbage I was now a part of, without even noticing me._

This is what Ari wrote in his notebook immediately after waking up from his nightmare, only he'd opted to jot down the contents of his visions in Spanish, his mother tongue, instead of English, a language he’d only learned to pursue a career he was too young to know he’d never want. The black ballpoint pen scribbled across the paper like mad, and would bleed through to the next page. Each page in Ari's notebook was horrible to read, not only because his penmanship stopped improving when he turned three months old, but because the ink would run and smear all over the page. It was impossible to read without a bright light.

Ari found this to be a good thing; it wasn't like he enjoyed rereading the contents.

The notebook was small, about the same size of most hardcover novels. It had 200 pages, and the cover was blue and made of leather. He'd bought it with his own money after visiting a Barnes & Noble bookstore with Jessica against his will. The blue notebook was also almost full, since Ari usually used it to jot down the details of his nightmares, as well as venting his emotions when he had no one to talk to.

Ari found himself yelling at his notebook a lot. His thoughts went from his brain, to the pen, to the paper. No wonder the pages were messy with ink blotches—the journal reflected the chaos of his mind. And most of the time, this was enough. How Ari loved being able to think about things _alone._ By himself. He craved alone time like it was his favorite food, savored the silence like it was his favorite song. But being left alone with thoughts about your nightmares wasn't the same. It was different. Cruelly and awfully different.

Ari got up from his bed and began pacing around the room, those unpainted-but-manicured nails scratching his dark brown, bare skin all over, from his arms to his chest to his back. He walked in circles around his room, pacing and pacing pointlessly, eventually reaching the bathroom where he decided to turn on the shower, pull off the boxer shorts and basketball shorts that he was wearing, and step in.

Just like the bottled water in his dream, the water from the showerhead poured over him and left droplets of water on his sepia brown flesh, and turned his hair into a flattened, dark umber mop. The water had turned him into a computerized, robotic mess of water damage that had to be thrown into the garbage. _Huh._ What an apt metaphor created by his subconscious.

“Robotic” barely scratched the surface of how Ari felt when he smiled and waved at the cameras, or posed for a picture, or even when he played his role in _Dance in the Dark_ sometimes. He was a vessel, executing commands given to him by Jessica or his parents or the people behind the cameras or the writers or whoever the fuck else. Ari pondered for a moment how obvious this was, if everyone else secretly knew how miserable he was, but just decided not to tell him. It was the world's best kept secret, that everyone was cognizant of Aristotle Mendoza's hatred for the spotlight and were playing the ultimate lifelong prank on him. _You got me good, you psycho bastards._

Ari barely remembered to actually wash himself, maybe because that's never what he intended to do. He stared at the blue bottle of shampoo that had the word “MEN” on it just below the brand logo. He sighed and picked it up, squirting a ton of shampoo into his dominant right hand and then lathering his hair with it. Only upon closer inspection of the bottle moments later did he realize it wasn't shampoo, it was body wash. _Whatever,_ he thought to himself. _These capitalist fucks know there's no difference. They just want you to buy more of their soap._

After his shower was over, he reentered his hotel bedroom. The curtain was drawn closed, as it always was, so the giant window that normally offered a stunning view of Los Angeles, was one that Ari had almost never taken the time to appreciate. “Drink it in, Aristotle,” Jessica said to him once as she gazed out the window while he absent-mindedly stared at the thousands of pillows arranged at the head of his bed. He had been fourteen years old.

He sat in the chair at his desk, still wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still damp and feet bare, not even wearing a pair of sandals to comfortably walk around the room whilst he was still getting dressed. 

Ari opened his Messages app again and smiled a little at how small the list was. Jessica, his two parents, and his brother. That was it. His direct messages on any given social media app had a list that was _much_ longer, he knew, but he never used those. The four people seen on his phone screen were the only four people who had his real phone number. To everyone else, he'd give a number belonging to a SIM card he never used (he went out of his way to make sure the phone Jessica got him only had room for _one_ SIM card at a time). “Sorry,” he'd say to anyone who told him later in person they couldn't reach him. “I'm a bad texter. Why don't you just DM me?” And then he wouldn't check those either, instead waiting for the other person to take a hint and hoping he’d never see them again.

For some reason, Ari decided to message his brother Bernardo, who still lived in Mexico and who he hadn't seen in person for several years. When the Mendozas made the decision to immigrate, Ari's three much older siblings decided not to go with them. They were salty at how much they suddenly favored Ari (according to Sylvia's apology text from nine months ago, who was one of his sisters) over the three of them. His parents tried to do everything they could to make amends with their older children and make sure Ari could still have a healthy relationship with them, but their efforts were somewhat in vain. Sylvia and Cecilia, Ari's two sisters, who were the eldest out of all the Mendoza siblings, seemed to resent Ari. Which was fine, of course. If they didn't want to have a relationship with their little brother, they didn't have to. Ari never got close enough to them to know what he wouldn't be missing out on—and even if he did know, he couldn't imagine it was very much, since his sisters were currently trying to profit off of their brother's acting career by launching their own TikTok accounts.

Ari left a comment that read: “clout chasers” on one of their videos exactly one time and never bothered to check the results. He could only imagine it wasn't anything pretty. _(Perhaps they were cancelled! Oh, if only.)_

Ari yawned as he typed a message to his older brother, whom he didn't feel especially connected to either, but did feel at the very least, less alienated from. The fact that Bernardo refused to call gay people anything but the f-slur definitely made Ari more scared of talking to his brother… but Ari wasn't a person to mince words depending on the person he was talking to. Since Bernardo had never engaged in that sort of speech with Ari—he'd only ever heard others tell him the things Bernardo allegedly said—he figured he'd just cross that bridge if he ever came to it. 

> **[2:45 AM] are you awake**
> 
> _[2:45 AM] yeh bro why?? can't sleep??_
> 
> **[2:46 AM] no**
> 
> _[2:47 AM] yeah me neither. had a hookup but that bitch stood me up, whatever tho_
> 
> _[2:47 AM] what's keeping u up_

Ari bit the inside of his cheek. His brother sometimes spoke about women like they were all objects or slutty porn stars, which was always something that bothered him. He couldn't remember ever being taught not to see women as objects, he simply just wasn't inclined to do so—odd, considering a blood-related relative apparently was. Maybe it was just the fact that Ari didn't even like girls, but he couldn't exactly see himself being so… _gross_ about boys, either.

> **[2:50 AM] nothing just bored and cant go to sleep**
> 
> _[2:51 AM] have some weed or something_
> 
> _[2:51 AM] u rich as fuck dont tell me u can't gst hour shwnd on some wrj3d_
> 
> **[2:51 AM] youre high right now aren't u**
> 
> Despite the typos, Ari knew his brother was encouraging him to smoke marijuana.
> 
> _[2:52 AM] yeahhhhhhhhhh_
> 
> _[2:52 AM] dude it's fun just grab some weed and find a girl to hiokiowith_

He was able, again, to read through the typos and understand Bernardo said “you can’t get your hands on some weed” and wanted him to “grab some weed and find a girl to hook up with.” It almost made Ari's head hurt, how his brother thought drugs and sex could solve any problem. Ari was pretty sure that's how famous people eventually fell from grace, actually, though that didn't change that he had always been very curious about mood-altering substances. Sure, Jessica and his parents and his teenage fandom would be _so_ disappointed in him, but who _wouldn't_ eventually be disappointed in him?

Drugs and alcohol might’ve actually been even _more_ attractive to Ari, given their chances of ruining his acting career. What a way to go that would be.

> **[2:54 AM] if girls keep standing you up what makes you think it'd work any better for me**
> 
> _[2:55 AM] cuz u RIIIIIICH_
> 
> **[2:57 AM] lmao okay. im not doing that.**

Hookups. Those were, admittedly, another thing Ari was curious about. He'd probably already be drinking, smoking, and cumming nightly if only his life configuration had allowed it. But no: as a _famous teen actor,_ those three things will have to be done surreptitiously until they suddenly _aren't_ being done surreptitiously, and all of a sudden, **#AriMendozaisoverparty** is trending on Twitter. If only he wasn't famous and allowed to do whatever he wanted, maybe he'd have a few guys on the DL he could talk to, or even a _boyfriend_ , though he also wasn't so sure how common it was for someone of his age to want a romance like the movies anymore.

He wished he had some weed to get stoned on, some beer to get drunk with, or a boys’ lips he could kiss, but none of those things were available to him.

Aristotle wondered when they finally would be.

The phone buzzed a few more times with messages from his brother that were mostly unintelligible, weed-induced messes of letters that ironically resembled keysmashes more than anything else as Ari put on a pair of sweatpants comfortable enough to sleep in and slid into bed, unsure that the next few hours just before 6:00 would be at all relaxing or restful.

If past experience was anything to go off of, the rest of tonight wouldn't be either of those things, and nor would the day directly ahead of him. And yet, Aristotle Mendoza eventually found himself fatigued enough to forget about his stoner brother, his TikTokker sisters, his parents' high expectations, his manager's schedule, and the inner thoughts and judgements from everyone who ever saw him in a photo, video, movie, or TV program.

He forgot about them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ari's nightmare was based on the music video for _XS_. [Here's the link on YouTube.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TO2c06p6m5w)
> 
> Also, I don't fucking know what it's like to be famous, so there's gonna be a lot of assumptions here. Sorry if any famous people or public figures are reading and you're cringing your necks off, lmao.


	2. i'm the baddest!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante doesn't like the man interviewing Ari.

> _“Call me crazy,_ _  
> __Call me selfish,_ _  
> __I’m the baddest,_ _  
> __And I’m worth it!”_
> 
> _—_ Rina Sawayama, _XS_

**02**

Breathing was usually a simple task for Dante Quintana, but inexplicably, he had a hard time doing so tonight in the face of the late night show he sat on his couch, watching. 

His camcorder laid on the coffee table, powered off. He had already used it prior to Ari Mendoza's interview on “After Dark with James McCain”. Dante had also prepared himself a whole dinner before the show came on the air, a meal that he admittedly finished before Ari's interview even began. He devoured his menudo and can of Coca-Cola quickly, perhaps anxiously, as McCain performed his monologue in which he mocked America's foolish politicians and celebrities, effectively cancelling any chance these celebrities or politicians would have on accepting a guest spot on his show. It exhausted Dante, how the United States had now become a place with so much tension and division, but the good thing was he was able to take his mind off of it most of the time with his YouTube channel.

Sometimes Dante stared at the gray number below his channel name, dumbfounded at how 7.3 million people had said to themselves, “I want my phone to notify me when this bitch makes a new video.” He could go on and on about how thankful he was with every new million-subscriber milestone. The last one that he'd made just a month ago for his seven-million milestone was one that lasted 12 minutes, and it was really just him repeating the same thing over and over (“Thank you all so much! I have the best job in the world and it’s all thanks to you guys! You all mean so much to me and I love you!”). Formulaic, maybe, but it was genuine. Dante wanted to go out and hug and meet every single one of these people, get to know them, get to know their families, help them out in any way he can—especially the comments from young gay teen boys just like him who say that he's been a huge inspiration and a beacon of hope for those who are stuck in unaccepting or unsafe situations. Contrary to popular belief, most YouTubers, Dante Quintana very much included, actually did read the comments under his videos. Some of them were hurtful, some of them were spam, but the vast majority were heartwarming and, at times, tear-jerking. 

The boy would marvel at how he was able to accumulate such a large following, how the seven-million figure made him feel on top of the world. If only he could bottle up the feeling he had when he first hit one million subscribers, he'd be covered for the rest of his life. No more joyous occasion ever occurred, nor will ever occur ever again. He was sure of it. Dante simply wasn’t sure that he would be able to _handle_ a more joyous occasion.

Dante had lived with his parents all his life. Save for summertime activities like going to the pool, or extracurricular programs, Dante seldom left his home, feeling instead secure within the four walls of his bedroom, where he was allowed to paint and read poetry and male-on-male fanfiction, and complete English homework assignments with even better scores than his father, who was an English _professor_ . "You're an intellectual, Dante," is what Sam Quintana would say to his son. "I want you to never be ashamed of that. This" --he'd held up the essay Dante had written on _Brave New World_ , a classic novel by Aldous Huxley he'd been assigned to read and write about that foretold a future devoid of family, monogamy, or privacy, that had a big "100%" written and circled on the front in red ink-- "is excellent. Your mother and I are very proud of you, _mijo_."

Dante Quintana took those words to heart. Few things made him prouder than being able to put a genuine smile on his parents' faces. He looked up the word _intellectual_ in the dictionary (yes, an actual book dictionary, not the Internet) that night, even though he already knew what the word meant. He had a general idea, yes, but his father was a man who was very precise with his language. He used words with intent. Never had a meaningless series of syllables escaped Sam Quintana's mouth. Behind every word, there was a choice. A story. And Dante was curious to see what about the word _intellectual_ reminded his father of him.

Upon seeing the definition in the dictionary, however, he faltered.

It was a process of going into his father's office in the nighttime when he wasn't using it (he opts instead to watch television in the living room with his wife at night), carrying the obscenely heavy red book back into his room, thumbing through the "I" section until reaching words that began with "int-," and then finally coming across "intellectual."

Merriam-Webster defined "intellectual" as: _"(1a) of or relating to the intellect and its use, (1b) developed or chiefly guided by the intellect rather than by emotion or experience : RATIONAL, (1c) requiring use of the intellect, (2a) given to study, reflection, and speculation, (2b) engaged in activity requiring the use of the intellect."_

At least, that's what the entry for the _adjective_ said. The noun's entry just said "an intellectual person." How helpful.

Most of these boxes Dante was able to check, he supposed, but the definition that made him stop and think was (1b): _developed or chiefly guided by the intellect rather than by emotion or experience : RATIONAL._ He wasn't irrational by any means, but he certainly didn't think of himself as a person who was guided by his own logic. His heart was involved in damn near every decision. Everything he ever painted, everything he ever drew, every way he ever interpreted a poem, every article of clothing he ever chose to wear, every boy he ever found to be cute was a result of an instant and immediate emotional reaction to whatever stimuli prompted it. Oh sure, he'd weed out the irrational emotions afterwards using his intellect, but true intellectuals didn't need to do that in the first place, or at least so he thought. Intellectuals have objective sets of eyes, while the rest of the world has subjective sets of eyes. Dante didn't know how in the world someone could use their vision or their judgement without any sort of emotional influence. Especially not when a person as dazzling as Ari Mendoza existed on the planet.

Dante might’ve intended to go and ask his father what exactly he had meant by “intellectual,” and whether he perceived Dante to be an emotional human being or not, but any thoughts relating to that definitely went out the window when thoughts of his beloved Ari entered his mind.

There was definitely nothing intellectual about the way Dante went into a trance whenever he heard Ari’s voice, or saw his face, or heard the theme song for _Dance in the Dark_ (which happened to be the 2008 Lady Gaga track of the same name). It was like playing a G note on the piano around anyone who used to be emo: Dante’s eyes would open, his ears perk up, his drowsiness at any given time eradicated. His parents loved to watch it happen, as it could be rather funny, but sometimes it would be rather inconvenient as he would quite literally drop anything in order to give his full and undivided attention to Ari Mendoza. One time, Dante dropped a bowl of menudo on his way to the kitchen after catching a glimpse on the television of a commercial for the show, in which Ari’s character appeared shirtless. Since he was home alone at the time, the bad news was that he had to clean the mess and throw the shattered bowl away himself, but the good news was that he wouldn’t have to explain red-faced to Sam and Soledad Quintana how a sixteen-year-old boy had dropped a bowl of menudo on the ground without anyone else in the room.

The memory still made Dante cringe and blush a little.

Tonight, Dante was home alone again, since his mother, a therapist, was working overtime tonight, and his father was out grocery shopping and grading research papers, like the responsible English professor he so proudly was. Sam knew that he wouldn’t be able to get to work peacefully with his fanboy son in the same building… and frankly, so did Soledad.

Dante was wrapped up in his purple blankets, wearing his favorite sweater with an empty bowl of menudo in his lap that he, thankfully, did _not_ drop and break. He set his bowl down on the coffee table and grabbed his pillow, holding it close to himself and imagining that it was Ari.

He frowned to himself just a little, the sadness settling in as it almost always did. No one had any idea if Ari was dating someone or not, because the boy had no fucking clue how to post anything to the Internet. The thought of Ari being so close to someone else, especially a _girl,_ made Dante insufferably jealous, despite the fact that he knew Ari didn’t know he existed, and there was a very slim chance they would ever meet in real life. It was dumb, he knew. So, so stupid, to be unhealthily obsessed with a teenage male actor like some twelve-year-old little girl. But that didn’t mean he was able to help himself.

James McCain, on-screen, put his mug of whatever drink he had (Dante always wondered what late-night guests and hosts had in those mugs—was it water?) and looked into the camera. “Folks, my next guest tonight immigrated to the United States with his parents and learned English when he was just 10 years old, rose to fame with his highly emotional role in _Only Time Will Tell,_ and is now starring in the third season of _Dance in the Dark._ ” The audience is already going insane, even though McCain has yet to say Ari’s name. “Please welcome, Ari Mendoza!” Not that Dante could’ve blamed the in-studio audience, of course. He would have _completely_ lost his mind. Dante was convinced seeing Ari in person literally would not be good for his health, or security guards would escort him out and he wouldn’t even realize it, because he blacked out.

Aristotle himself came out on stage, clad in a black-and-white tux adorned with a red necktie. _A single-windsor knot,_ Dante observed silently. Distantly, he knew it was the easiest knot to undo—his father had taught him how to tie a tie a year ago. The numerous things that entered his mind upon seeing Ari wear a tie so easily undone made his heart lurch, and he forced himself to ignore the sensation stirring in his chest.

Dante wanted to go up to the fridge to get more Coke, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the TV. _Why’d I have to be such a weak gay?_ he asked himself. No one answered.

Ari shook hands with the host and sat down at his armchair neighboring McCain’s desk that had the logo of his show plastered on the front. The interview commenced as normal and continued as such for a while. Nothing new that Dante didn’t already know, since he devoted forty percent of his life to his YouTube career, sixty percent of his life to Ari (and his parents, he also supposed, because he loved them, too), and one _hundred_ percent to being gay. Dante Quintana had indeed written most of Ari Mendoza’s Wikipedia page, a feat that many of his subscribers pointed out in his comment section (Dante had created an account to edit instead of doing so anonymously), but he never bothered to address. Everyone already knew that Dante would do anything to get under Ari; he saw no reason to make _yet another_ video about it. His fans did that well enough—there were an overwhelming amount of compilation videos entitled something along the lines of “Dante Quintana thirsting over Ari Mendoza for [blank] minutes straight,” a fact that never failed to make Dante laugh.

What did slightly alarm Dante, however, was the first question that James asked Ari almost immediately after coming back from the commercial break. “So, Ari, tell us about your girlfriend.”

Dante’s eyebrows furrowed at the host’s question. _Why the hell are you asking him about that?_ Dante supposed he’d _like_ to know if Ari did have someone he loved, but what the fuck? Everyone knew the boy was secretive as shit, and he’d let people know about his love life when he wanted to. _Maybe it’s something I’ll have to Tweet about,_ Dante thought to himself. _Tweet about it, and then repost it on every other social platform. Really get the word out if my Twitter followers seem to agree, too._

As Ari responded, clearly flustered and possibly a bit defensive (methinks thou doth protest too much?), Dante listened intently. “I don’t have a girlfriend. If you so badly need confirmation that I’m single, go ask my co-star Gina. She pesters me about it every day, and I’m about up to here with her b—crap.”

Dante’s lips twisted into a smile at the final syllable. _Did Ari almost just cuss?_

If he did, James did nothing about it. “Aw, come on! Not even _one_ girl that you’re into?”

Ari sighed. _He looks so tired._ What Dante wouldn’t give to be able to go up to him and run his nails through that fluffy brown hair, and tell him it’ll be alright. “Alright, I’ll say a name.”

The young boy almost choked on the Coke he wasn’t even drinking. He immediately leaned forward in his seat, and turned the volume up by about 25 percent. _Please don’t be a girl, please don’t be a girl, please don’t be a girl…_

James lifted one eyebrow after a prolonged and tantalizing silence. “Well?”

Ari’s pink lips that Dante so often dreamed about kissing twisted into a mischievous grin. “Oh, I never said I’d say it to _you._ ”

As the entire in-studio audience either laughed or groaned, Dante found himself relaxing in his seat, yelling “Oh my _God!”_ He facepalmed. 

Then it dawned on him that perhaps there _was_ a name, and that Ari was just being an asshole instead of genuinely sick-and-tired of people constantly asking him if he was in a relationship. It made Dante bite the inside of his cheek, again, but he decided he wouldn’t let himself get so anxious until some concrete information is made public. Like an actual _photo,_ for instance. He couldn’t even count how many magazines Ari’d been featured in (well, yes he could, because he had a pile of those magazines somewhere in a box under his bed) in which the people tried to make a photo with him and another girl _look_ like something more romantic or scandalous. He could’ve almost snorted at how the magazines would have big, anxious headers like “HAS ARI MENDOZA FINALLY FOUND HIS GIRL?” and the accompanying photo is just a completely normal image of Ari standing next to his co-star Gina Navarro, who played his _sister_ in _Dance in the Dark_ , so if their roles on the same TV show eventually evolved into an off-stage romance, that’d be a pretty weird dynamic to shift from.

“Well played, Mr. Mendoza,” James commended. “Well played.”

Ari smiled to himself as he grabbed his mug with the “After Dark” logo on it and took a sip of whatever was in it. “So,” James said, “ _Dance in the Dark._ ”

“Yup.” The audience cheered and applauded at the mention of Ari’s TV show.

“It’s going into its third season now, at Netflix?”

“NBC and Netflix. Netflix distributes us overseas.”

“I see, and your character Carlos is getting some… _protagonism_ this season?”

Ari took yet another sip of his mug. “I mean, he’s the main character, so… yes.” _This boy was impossible to have humor you,_ Dante thought.

The audience laughed a bit at his curt response. It made Dante grin, too.

James smiled. “Yes, but there have been rumors afloat that Carlos is getting a love interest?”

The audience clapped and cheered, and Ari simply smiled without showing his teeth and looked out at the audience. The camera panned across the audience momentarily before abruptly cutting back to Ari in the armchair. “I’ve been told that romance is going to be a part of Carlos’ story this season, but the showrunner hasn’t told me anything. I haven’t received a script yet.”

The conversation between Ari and James fizzles just a bit before James dismisses him and cuts to commercial. Dante moved from a sitting-upright position to placing his head on the sofa’s arm, lying horizontally across the furniture. He didn’t plan to continue watching “After Dark with James McCain” now that his favorite person was no longer on it. The remote was laying just close enough to be within Dante’s reach for him to grab it and power off the TV.

He got up and walked to his kitchen, opening the cabinets only to see there wasn't much else to eat. Disappointed, he grabbed yet another Coke from the fridge and downed it, all too quickly.

Dante sat back down at the sofa, opting to open up Netflix and let _Dance in the Dark_ play in the background, starting from Season 2 Episode 3. The playback would only end once the Season 2 finale was finally over—provided his TV didn't bother to ask the oh so stupid question of “Are you still watching Netflix?” in between episodes.

He laid horizontally across his sofa again with his laptop, which had been powered off and set aside on the cushion of the armchair adjacent to the sofa he was laying on. Dante grabbed the device and powered it on, pleased to see it still had enough battery life to last him the rest of the night.

The boy stared at his desktop after entering his password ( _AristotleMend0zaismyHusband_ !) a little dumbfounded and intimidated by so many options, somehow. On his desktop there were about ten different shortcuts to .tif files of his own _Dance in the Dark_ fanarts he had yet to finish and post to his Tumblr fanblog—all of which, of course, featured Carlos/Ari. There were also shortcuts to a few Microsoft Word documents and PDF files of fanfictions he'd either downloaded from the Archive, or written himself but didn't yet want to post under his anonymous Archive of Our Own pseudonym. His YouTube subscribers already knew about his tendency to draw Carlos wearing crop tops that revealed a shockingly toned abdomen and large biceps; they didn't need to also know about the various ways he knew how to wield the weapon of the English language.

Suddenly, Dante found himself yawning. He didn't have the energy to do very much tonight, nor did he think that forcing himself to work on anything would yield any great results. _The deadline for this week's video's almost here,_ he thought to himself. “New videos every Monday!” was what his channel banner advertised, though he wasn't fantastic at keeping up with that schedule, as his fans made abundantly clear with snarky comments such as, “I knew gays couldn't do math, but time management, too? How many brain cells does this homo have left?”

Dante smiled to himself upon remembering that comment. He hadn't responded, nor had he been offended. Since he didn't know what to say, he just pressed the "Heart" option, which inevitably propelled the comment to the top of the section. It still stood at roughly 9,000 likes, and the number steadily grew each day.

 _Buzz._ His phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was his dad.

> _[11:43 PM] How was Ari's appearance on the TV show?_

He smiled.

> **[11:43 PM] Good, i guess. little worried cuz he looked uncomfortable but nothing went bad.**
> 
> _[11:44 PM] Uh oh. That's nowhere near as enthusiastic as you are._
> 
> **[11:45 PM] fhwbsbshdnwdnfk okay so maybe I'm a bit concerned about him. He just seemed so awkward??**
> 
> _[11:46 PM] Well, he doesn't seem like a guy who enjoys the spotlight so much, as you've told me many times. Maybe he was just tired._
> 
> **[11:46 PM] yeah, maybe**
> 
> **[11:47 PM] I think I'm going to sleep now**
> 
> _[11:48 PM] Ok then. Sweet dreams mijito <3 _
> 
> **[11:49 PM] :) <3**

Breathe in, breathe out. Dante shut off his phone and left all his stuff in the living room, the blankets and laptop and phone and empty bowl of menudo and three empty cans of Coke. He powered the TV off, turned off all the lights, and flopped into bed, knowing his mother would have his ass in the morning, but being too exhausted to care.

As was routine by this point, he clutched a pillow close to him and wondered what it'd be like for his knight in shining armor to finally come to him and spoon him to sleep. Dante would rather have his soulmate come and sleep next to him right now than keep his 7 million YouTube subscribers. It was something that was undoubtedly true but that no one ever needed to know. That would be an intimate secret between him and his eventual lover. 

* * *

It was a normal Friday evening when fourteen-year-old Dante stumbled across a set of GIFs on Tumblr that would eventually change his life.

One of his Tumblr mutuals, the name and URL of whom he unfortunately no longer remembers, reblogged a GIFset featuring two teenagers, brother and sister he presumed, with each GIF alternating between the two of them fighting and the two of them sharing a sweet moment—usually hugging each other. Dante’s vision lingered on the brother, a tall boy with skin much darker than his own and big, amber eyes who looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place. Dante scrolled to the tags on the post to see who it was, and saw the tag **#dance in the dark** at the very end. It was the only one out of all of them (save for the tags that clearly served as reactions) that wasn’t clearly the name of a person, so he tapped the tag and blissfully scrolled through GIFs, incorrect quotes, memes, fanfictions, fanarts, and clips of a new little drama-comedy called _Dance in the Dark_ that centered around a young boy named Carlos and his sister Ximena, who navigate the ups and downs of life at a new school whilst both siblings hide far too many precocious secrets from one another.

The premise, combined with the fact that both Carlos and Ximena’s storylines centered around the both of them realizing they’re gay and coming out slowly, first Ximena and then Carlos, was one that really resonated with Dante. He may not have been out of the closet just yet, but after the first six episodes he already wholeheartedly knew that he could see himself in Carlos and Ximena, and that whoever played Carlos was the hottest human being ever to grace the Earth.

When Dante started learning more about Ari Mendoza, the elusive teen actor who was quickly rising to superstardom in Hollywood, he was amazed. He’d never before seen _Only Time Will Tell,_ and when he finally did bootleg the movie he didn’t stop crying for a week. His parents were very confused, the poor things. Dante once laid on the floor of his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling, mouth slightly agape. That scene, that _goddamn_ scene in the hospital where Ari’s character was bent over his dead mother’s hospital bed as her ghost tried desperately to speak to her son once again absolutely ruined him. Tore Dante’s chest open, shredded his heart, left it open and bleeding. That first night he ever experienced—not watched, it’s an _experience—_ that movie for the very first time, he walked up to his mother, hugged her, and didn’t let go for several minutes.

Soledad Quintana was confused, but happy. Worried, also, because Dante was crying profusely, but she just wrapped her arms around her son and let him be.

Then come to find out _Only Time Will Tell_ was based on a novel. Immediately upon seeing a picture of a person holding their copy of the book with a review below on Tumblr, he got up from his seat and looked up the price on the Barnes & Noble website. His parents got him a hardcover copy for his birthday, as well as some _Dance in the Dark_ merch, for that show and Ari were the only two things Dante would now talk about.

He wrote poetry about it. He drew and painted about it. He ranted about it, watched it, breathed it, ate it, slept in it, wore it, everything you could think of. Eventually he had an Instagram fanpage dedicated to _Dance in the Dark,_ as well as a Tumblr blog he’d post fanfiction and fanart on and a Twitter account he would shitpost about it on. On the Instagram page, he posted edits, small excerpts from his fanfictions, and incorrect quotes, as well as theories about the show’s lore and character arcs. It was the most fun Dante had had with anything in awhile. And yes, he felt bad about pestering his parents with constant facts and stories about the show that neither his father nor his mother gave a fresh _fuck_ about, but they were happier to see their son so excited and giddy about something new again. Happy Dante was the best Dante, according to Sam.

But Happy Dante wouldn't always be present in the Ari Mendoza fandom. The Internet was not a paradise of harmony and peacefulness among fans. There were ship wars left and right, to the point where whatever ship you had in your Tumblr bio determined what sort of person you were at heart. Some parts of the fandom would fiercely argue about the meanings of certain episodes, whether this one person was really dead or not, and who was the most deserving of love. Dante held Ximena close to his heart because he saw himself in her. He held Carlos close to his heart because he was head over heels for him. Slandering either of them was sure to incapacitate Dante for the rest of the day. 

Some evenings Dante would come out of his bedroom after an entire evening spent at his laptop, looking weary and drained, as if he just got back from a rigorous day at the gym. He'd sit at the kitchen table, yanking at his own long black hair in frustration and being curt with his parents.

Sam would sigh, grab two cans of Coke from the fridge, and place one in front of his teenage son. “What happened on Tumblr today?” was always the first question out of his mouth. Some days Dante was grateful for his father's intuition; others, he wished he wasn't so smart.

Sharing a Coke was one of Dante's very favorite things to do, though he thought he might enjoy it more if it were a beer instead. He saw how Carlos would sneak liquor from his parents' padlocked cabinet and sneak out with Ximena to go to concerts and parties, and while Dante was certainly no angel, he was too crazy about his parents to break their rules about sneaking out in the middle of the night. (He was willing to break _several_ rules when they weren't around, such as their no-pot rule, but that was only when he had permission to be out of the house. Dante Quintana was certain that if his kid's bed was empty without an explanation, he'd completely lose it. He didn't want to do that to his parents.)

Maybe, then, this was a little hypocritical; Soledad woke him up the morning after Ari's appearance on McCain, reprimanding him for having left all his stuff out in the living room, including not throwing away the cans of Coke or washing his dishes. Lethargically and reluctantly, Dante completed those chores first thing in the morning before returning to his room to scroll through his favorite Ari Mendoza Tumblr fanblog. GIFsets were what Dante expected to see, but instead he stumbled upon something very different. 

In the place of moving images, all Dante found was a textpost by the blog’s owner. **Did anyone else think Ari seemed really uncomfortable on McCain last night??** the post read. **He seemed like he was forcing his smiles and he was a little curt. It's honestly getting annoying how many people won't stop asking Ari about his girlfriend. He's already said multiple times he doesn't have one, and even if he does then that's his business. People need to stop fucking bothering him about this!! That’s why I haven’t made GIFs of his appearance on McCain’s show last night, it just didn’t feel right.**

Dante immediately hit the Reblog button and began typing. **I totally agree. I also felt like Ari was really off on McCain last night and the girlfriend question sorta killed the interview. Stop constantly asking teenage boys about their girlfriends, it can make single boys insecure and try to get into relationships they don’t feel strongly about, it can make boys in relationships who want to keep it private feel uncomfortable, and it discredits gay boys. And this shit starts in childhood!! I can’t tell you how many times random adults (like my teachers!!) would be like “Oh they’re so cute together, they’d make such a cute couple!” when I was FOUR FUCKING YEARS OLD and I was just playing with one of my friends who happened to be a girl. When you ask little boys if they like the girls they’re playing with, it totally ruins friendships. How many attractions did I fake while I was in the closet? I literally have lost count. Good for you for deciding not to make GIFs, seriously. It** ** _wouldn’t_** **have been right.**

Dante’s thumbs finally stopped dancing across the keys. He paused to take a look at what he’d written. _Not bad, Dante._ _Not bad._ He decided to hit the blue “Post” button and put his phone down for a second to breathe. Breathe. _Breathe._

Perhaps breathing wasn’t usually as simple a task for Dante Quintana after all.


	3. (s)he's a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aristotle receives some bad news.

> _ “She looks good, _ _   
>  _ _ But her boyfriend says _ _   
>  _ _ She’s a mess, she’s a mess _ _   
>  _ _ She’s a mess, now the girl is stressed _ _   
>  _ _ She’s a mess, she’s a mess _ _   
>  _ _ She’s a mess, she’s a mess!” _
> 
> —Lady Gaga,  _ Dance in the Dark _

**03**

There was something ethereal about being able to use the in-hotel fitness center at 4:30 in the morning, long before anyone else would wake up and even think to use it alongside him. It was already normally a pretty nice place to get away from most people, as most of those who stayed at Ari’s hotel—an edifice he'd never bothered to actually remember the name of—either hated exercising in front of others or had someplace else to exercise. But the hour of 4:00 AM that guaranteed that no one else was awake was simply perfect. Ari never had any people to meet with at that hour, and he was able to get a healthy amount of exercise knocked out before the day even began. It never interfered with his schedule that Jessica kept track of on her phone every day.

It occurred to Ari that he might be totally fucked if Jessica weren't around one day. He had no idea what was in store for him today, nor tomorrow, nor the following week. It wasn't like he had access to his calendars and schedules, or anything. He grimaced.

Ari had a towel around his neck, his phone in his right hand, and his filled-to-the-brim, ice-cold water bottle in the left. His footsteps were quiet, not at all audible from inside one of the hotel rooms, and only marginally more so in the actual hallway, despite the tennis shoes he was already wearing. In addition to his shoes, he was also clad in a pair of red basketball shorts that were so oversized he had to tie the drawstring extremely tight, and a white crop top Ari had cut the sleeves off of many moons ago. It was originally a long-sleeved crop top that Jessica had bought him, but after realizing he wasn't the biggest fan of it approximately 2 months after its purchase, Ari impulsively grabbed some scissors and cut the sleeves clean off, then put it back on. He still couldn't tell if it was better or worse without the sleeves—all he knew is that the gossip mags would go absolutely batshit if he were ever to leave his parents' house or the hotel wearing it, given that if he raised his arms up to the sky, you could sort of see his nipple, not to mention his armpits and belly button. He had shuddered, thinking about what people would’ve said online about it. Ari vowed only to wear the article for exercise or recreational purposes, in private.

Ari made it to the glass doors of the indoor fitness center. He held the back of his phone up to the scanner next to the door; he had a clear case on his phone, in front of which his ID card for the hotel had been placed. The scanner made a  _ beep _ noise likely loud enough to be heard by an awake person in another unit before the doors unlocked. Ari always thought the commotion caused by entering the fitness center might wake someone up, but he was never correct.

There were large, gorgeous windows providing a truly sensational view of Los Angeles, not unlike the ones in his own room. The sky was a deep purple and orange, dark enough to still fall asleep under, but still indicative of a morning sun fast approaching. Ari admired it briefly before mounting a treadmill, deliberately choosing his favorite one (the one closest to the center of the row) because it had that challenging-as-hell Fat Burn configuration that he, perhaps somewhat masochistically, loved.

After 20 minutes of the treadmill, it was time for weights, which he spent half as much time on as he did the treadmill. Then he made himself do push-ups and pull-ups until the sun began to rise.

During his workouts, Ari wondered if he'd ever have someone to work out with. Plenty of guys had gym buddies, but Ari couldn't have been any less interested in maintaining a fitness-only friendship with another adolescent male. Teenage boys were such a weird group of people,  _ especially  _ the heterosexual ones. They were all either too geeky or too jock-ish and stupid for Aristotle to tolerate them for more than two seconds. Ari studied boys, almost. Didn't know why the hell he was so attracted to them if so many of them were so chaotically stupid. Didn't even remember how he'd reached the conclusion that he was, in fact, gay. (Hey: straight boys didn't have to have a coming out story, so neither did Ari.) Of course, he remembered the first time he kissed a guy: it was a fellow male teen actor on the set of  _ Dance in the Dark, _ and it was strictly for the sake of the show and the characters, but Ari couldn’t seem to fall asleep quite right that night. Or ever since.

The period of time in between Ari’s first kiss with another boy and Ari deciding to stop hating himself for having enjoyed the kiss was extremely fuzzy and muddled in his memory. One day, he’d just decided to start hating the world instead of himself, and maybe that was the end of it. He truly didn’t know.

It was in the middle of Ari's push-ups that he closed his eyes and started thinking about a boy. A boy who was completely unlike any other boy he'd ever met before. One who was smart and knew what the hell he was talking about when he spoke. One who wouldn't think it was funny to talk about girls as if they were sex toys. One who actually seemed to love life. 

Someone simultaneously unlike and identical to him, perhaps.

Ari wondered if he was out there somewhere. What did he look like? What was his name? Would he exercise with him at 4:30 in the morning? Would he make a competition out of the push-ups, the weightlifting, the running? Would he care that Ari was famous? Would he even know who Ari was? Had he even ever heard of  _ Only Time Will Tell, _ or  _ Dance in the Dark _ ?

By the time he opened his eyes again and snapped out of his reverie, he'd lost count of his push-ups. Ari had left the fitness center and was back in his room by 5:30 AM, as per usual.

Ari immediately pulled off his clothes as soon as he stepped back into his room's bathroom and started taking a shower, once again lathering his hair in shampoo and his body in soap, letting the water wash it off. He stood under the showerhead longer than he should have. Liliana Mendoza, Ari's dear mother whom he loved very much, always scolded Ari about taking long showers, telling him that water wasn't free and he needed to cut back on how long he spent in there. Now that this water wasn't being paid for by him nor his parents, he didn't care to moderate his time.

But Jessica did.

“Ari!” Jessica called his name loudly through the white bathroom door whilst knocking her knuckles emphatically against it. “C’mon! Hurry up and come outta there! Simon just sent the entire  _ DITD  _ cast a mass text in the group chat. You’re the main character, you’ve got to see this ASAP!”

Ari’s eyebrows furrowed. He almost jumped in place at the sudden noise. _When the hell did Jessica break into my room?_ He poked his head out of the shower curtain, facing the door. “What?” Jessica was somewhat unintelligible, through the sounds of the showerhead and the multiple layers of curtains, walls, and doors that separated the two of them.

Jessica bit the inside of her cheek and groaned. “Just get out of there!”

Ari grumbled and turned off the water. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back.

* * *

Simon was the bane of Ari’s existence. He was a nice enough guy, Ari knew. Basically everyone on the set of  _ Dance in the Dark _ liked him, were able to laugh with him, had grabbed a beer with him once or twice and only had nice things to say about him. And Aristotle knew, in his heart of hearts, that he had no good reason to loathe Simon entirely, to wish death upon him, to want to learn about voodoo dolls just to see if it would inflict even the tiniest bit of pain or harm on him. And yet, he still did.

Maybe it was because he was the showrunner. Credited as the executive producer near the end of the opening credits of each and every episode of  _ DITD _ , Simon Garcia was the man responsible for the creation of Ari’s character, Carlos, as well as every other character in the cast, not to mention being the head writer and script editor.  _ He _ was the reason Ari was in this mess at all.  _ He _ was the reason Ari had to kiss other boys, and quickly realized he didn’t mind, no, he didn’t mind one bit. It was something Ari very much would’ve preferred to keep a secret even to himself for his entire life, and it was Simon's fault that that was no longer possible.

Jessica had no clue Ari resented the showrunner to such an extent. She figured his apparent curtness with Simon had just been a result of his clear and pervasive trust issues. If there was only one person in a room who disliked a certain someone else, it was consistently Aristotle. He could develop personal vendettas against another person without ever having a single conversation with them. It was almost magical, in a cursed sort of way.

Ari emerged from the closet eventually (no, not like that), wearing a red T-shirt and black basketball shorts. He definitely was dressed for comfort and lounging around the house, despite the fact that he had no idea whether he had to leave the hotel today. Jessica had a bad habit of withholding that information from him until just before he would have to get ready, unless it was a taping of Dance in the Dark. "Hey," he sighed, plopping down on the couch next to Jessica.

Jessica wordlessly handed Ari the smartphone that contained his secondary SIM card. On this card was the phone number that he never used that he gave to everyone who asked for it. Only relatives and Jessica had his actual number; for any other situation, Jessica carried with her a second phone that technically belonged to Ari but that she knew Ari would never want to have anything to do with.

She'd respond to messages and inquiries as Ari on the secondary device, and hand the device to Ari whenever it was something she knew he'd have to see.

The phone was open to the Messaging app, more specifically the _Dance in the Dark_ cast & crew group chat. It was a group of the main characters, some recurring characters, and the entire team of writers. It was quite a big band of people, about thirty-ish in total, and such a large messaging group easily tired Ari out. Jessica usually took back the phone when Ari began yawning and running his palm across his face. 

There was a new message from the wretched Simon Garcia.

> _ [6:02 AM] Hey guys! S3 is gonna start filming really soon so I just wanted to go over a few things with you and let you all know of a few things. _
> 
> _ Ofc you all know that Carlos and Ximena are *both* getting romantic storylines in this season--I hope you're okay with that, Ari and Gina--and of course, we need new co-stars to join us for that. Today, we have Dante Quintana joining us on our cast to play a new character named Jaime! I'm about to add him as soon as I'm done writing this message. In case you somehow haven't already heard of him, he's a YouTuber whose channel grew startlingly quickly in the past few months. He has 7 million subscribers and he's actually an avid fan of DITD and Ari! (I hope you're ready for a little added attention, Ari, haha) He's going to be playing Carlos' love interest this season. Depending on how he's received by the fans, we're considering making him a regular and integrating him into the main cast. As for Ximena/Gina, we also have a new young actress named Susie Byrd who is *very* talented, but also very shy. I think this will definitely be her big break, but I'm really gonna need everyone's help to make her feel welcome. She experienced some issues going into her audition. She's okay now, but Susie is definitely not yet used to the spotlight. I know she'll do a fantastic job as Ximena's love interest, whom we've decided to name Natalie. _
> 
> _ In other news: the entire cast who lives outside of LA should already be in LA or Cali, at least, cuz we're starting filming next week Monday at the same location... _

The message from Simon continued with generic information about the filming location and hours that Ari already had memorized, so he didn't bother to finish reading. He was already running his hand across his face, elbow resting on his knee. Ari could have cried.

"Are you good?" Jessica said, grimacing. She knew the part about Ari receiving more attention would really trip him up. A fanboy on the cast was probably the last thing Ari needed.

But it was so, so much deeper than that.

This text message was an alarm sent in the form of black letters on a grey bubble-shaped background. It would've been more appropriate to issue it in the form of an official emergency, like an AMBER alert or a severe weather warning.

Not only did Ari Mendoza not need the reminder that his character was  _ definitely _ going to end up kissing yet another boy this season, but... but.

Why in the fresh hell Simon decided to hire a YouTuber who was a fan of his, he'd never know. Indeed, Ari had never before heard of this Dante Quintana character, but he thought he had heard or read the name before in passing, probably seen it as a part of some fanpage editor or fanfiction writer, or fanartist. Ari could already shudder if it weren't for Jessica's presence; her sitting on the couch direct next to him was the only thing keeping him from finding something glassy and expensive to shatter into a million pieces, only to call Room Service and claim he'd accidentally knocked it over, or that "it just fell off the table and I have no idea what caused it!" Ari was a good actor. He could get away with it.

Ari could already see it. Dante would show up to the set with his obnoxious vlogger camera and do his cringey intro ("hey, what's up, guys?!") and then shove the device in Ari's face. More gossip mag headlines. More trending Twitter moments. More completely uncalled for NSFW fanfictions of Ari relentlessly railing whomever he was playing opposite on  _ Dance in the Dark _ this time; mind you, they were  _ not Dance in the Dark _ fanfictions, they were real-person fanfictions of Ari Mendoza and his co-stars. Those were the ones that really got to him.

Ari wondered how easy it would be to get away with murdering Simon for someone in his position. Maybe he could commit a crime so perfectly planned and covert, only the craziest YouTube conspiracy theorists would be able to perform the mental gymnastics necessary to reach the correct conclusion.

Then there was this new Susie Byrd. Ari already had no interest in getting to know more, new people. Dante would most certainly be a handful, as someone who'd amassed 7 million subscribers in such a short time. Thank God Susie was shy. He'd simply never glare at her and that should be enough to count as "making her feel welcome." If Simon had a different opinion, he'd disregard it.

Ari exhaled sharply, finally. "Yeah. I'm fine." Ari arose from his spot on the couch. "What's on my schedule for today?"

Jessica exhaled through her mouth and grabbed her own tablet from her purse. It was an iPad with a pink leather case. She opened the Calendar app. "Hmm... not much, to be honest with you--oh, no. Forget I said that."

Ari's heart lifted and then plummeted once more.

"Simon's inviting everyone to a celebratory dinner to welcome the new co-stars and to distribute the season premiere scripts."

Ari groaned, audibly. "Fuck. Please tell me it's not at a restaurant."

"It's not," Jessica confirmed quickly, holding her palm up like a stop sign to try to get him to quit panicking. "It's not at all public." She squinted at the screen. "Actually, it's going to be at Dante's place."

Ari blinked twice. "Why?"

"I'm not sure," Jessica admitted. She held up Ari's secondary phone again. "Simon's writing something, though." She briefly showed Ari the phone screen, which had "Simon is typing..." with a three-dots animation alongside it at the bottom below the  _ Enter Message... _ field. "Maybe he'll explain the dinner. He probably forgot."

"Yeah," Ari echoed. "He probably forgot."

He probably forgot how much Ari hated aggressive attention for extended periods of time.

He probably forgot how difficult it was for Ari to withstand the flashing lights of the red carpet and the paparazzi, a group of mobsters (they were  _ not _ journalists!) whose only purpose on Earth was to get the worst possible photo of you. 

He probably forgot how damn awkward his interview with McCain was a few nights ago.

He probably just  _ forgot. _

What must it be like, to be able to whip out such an easy and lazy excuse? To be able to cover up your fuck-ups so quickly, so easily? To be comfortable enough to fuck-up, apologize, and then continue on with your life as normal?

Aristotle knew that when he inevitably, one day, fucked up and told the truth about himself, it would be irreversible. Unforgivable. #AriMendozaisoverparty would trend, and this time, it'd actually have an impact. That dip in followers he'd experience wouldn't bounce back. The questions from his parents about "what's this about?" would be left on read, met with disappointment instead of relief that it was just a misunderstanding. The show would get cancelled, and Ari would never be cast in anything again. His career in the US would be over.

Ari Mendoza had a new, certainly over-enthusiastic cast member joining his show, whom he would definitely have to kiss before the end of the season, 'cause he knew what Simon's writing style was like. And with eagle eyes following him every which way, and a manager whose literal job it was to make sure he never showed up in front of a camera without being ready, Ari knew his only choices in life were to lie his ass off until the sweet release of death came to pick him up, or end his career and let down an entire nation, move with his parents back to their home country, and let the  _ machismo _ of his hometown eat him alive.

He cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he said, despite the fact that Jessica had never repeated her question. Ari got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Aristotle's hand twisted the blue knob, and the faucet began to run.


	4. tell him how you feel, boy(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante gets the role of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. It took me a while to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> Here's a little backstory regarding how Dante landed the role of Ari's love interest, and how the dinner party Simon talked about went.
> 
> Chapter's about 5.6k words. I really hope you all enjoy!!

> _ “Baby loves to dance in the dark… _ _   
>  _ _ Cuz when he’s looking, _ _   
>  _ _ She falls apart! _ _   
>  _ _ Baby loves to dance in the dark…” _
> 
> —Lady Gaga,  _ Dance in the Dark _

**04**

It was only three weeks after he’d received notification that the showrunners of  _ Dance in the Dark _ had sent out a casting call for a new character named Jaime only  _ one day after _ Ari had appeared on “After Dark.” 

In true Dante fashion, Dante grabbed the nearest camcorder he could find and hit the red circular button. “Guys, I cannot even  _ begin _ to tell you how excited I am for the new season of D.I.T.D.!” he exclaimed, of course talking to his audience as if they were in the room with him. He set his camcorder down on the kitchen table and stood at the end of it. “I dunno if you guys will be able to see this. I’ll put it up on the screen later if you can’t” --Dante held his phone screen up to the camera-- “but  _ look! _ They sent out a casting call!” On the screen was an Instagram post from  _ Dance in the Dark _ ’s casting director. They were looking for a Hispanic and/or Latinx teen boy of any race who could play a role that could easily switch from fun and energetic to anxious and melancholic--i.e., a perfect description of Dante. As Dante was talking to the camera, asking his viewers if they thought this “Jaime” was going to be Ari’s new love interest, Sam Quintana came home through the kitchen. (Dante would only discover later while editing his video that Sam could be seen through the door window, hesitating to enter once he saw that his son was recording a video).

Dante’s head whipped around when he heard his father enter. “Oh. Hi, Dad.” His arms fell to his sides awkwardly. It wasn’t like he’d just been caught in the middle of making a TikTok thirst trap, but he still felt somewhat embarrassed. 

Sam gave his son a warm smile as he set his stuff down on the table, behind the camera. “Hi, Dante.” He walked over and gave Dante a kiss on the head before going to the fridge for a Coke. “What’re you recording?”

“The  _ D.I.T.D. _ showrunners just sent out a casting call!” he said, showing his father his phone. Sam took it in his hand and skimmed through the post for a bit. 

While handing his son back his device, he said, “I think you should respond.”

Dante faltered and paused, staring at his father a bit dumbfoundedly. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” Sam said, leaning against the countertop. “Audition for the show.”

Dante was silent, whilst in some distant corner of his mind, he knew that his life was about to take a seismic turn in a much different direction. In what direction, exactly, or whether it was good or bad, was still a mystery, as was whether he wanted to stay on this road. 

The more Dante stayed quiet, the more Sam wanted to try to talk him into this. “Dante, come on. You make sketch comedy vlogs with the kids from your drama class all the time. They get tons of views for a reason. And you literally haven’t developed an interest in anything other than that TV show--and that boy Aristotle--since you first discovered them.” Sam paused to take a sip of his Coke. “Would it really hurt to try?”

Dante wasn’t a good liar, but he was an excellent actor. He maintained rather adamantly that the two were very different skills when people accused him of being a bad actor just because he couldn’t get away with a simple white lie. And even when it came to acting, Dante always imagined he’d be the primary star of a show’s blooper reel if he ever got cast in anything, since it’s almost too easy to make Dante laugh or smile. Aristotle Mendoza could make Dante Quintana smile just by blinking. He always imagined that if he were ever to meet Ari, it’d have to be in the parking lot of the emergency room. If he were ever cast in  _ Dance in the Dark, _ his character would have to exist on a plane wholly unrelated to Carlos and Ximena or he’d probably collapse every time Ari got near him.

Just the thought of getting to be so close to Ari several hours a day, every day, made his skin tingle with something for which he couldn’t give a name.

“Ari’s just another young boy like you,” Soledad once said to her son one day after another broadcast of  _ Dance in the Dark _ . “You don’t have to put him on a pedestal.”

Instead of trying to argue with his mother, Dante thought about what she’d said. Later that night, under the covers well past a reasonable bedtime, Dante watched Ari talk to his fans on an Instagram livestream. It was while  _ Dance in the Dark _ was in the middle of its second season. Ari’s height and hair length were just a tad bit shorter, and he smiled wide way more often than he ever did now. He was taking questions from the audience, and eventually stumbled upon the one Dante had submitted out of pure self-indulgence:  **would you ever date one of your fans?**

Dante almost screamed and woke up his parents when he saw it was his question Ari had chosen. Thank God the questions were anonymous, otherwise someone with a keen eye who was a fan of both Dante and Ari could’ve put the pieces together and found out Dante Quintana had once indirectly asked  _ the _ Ari Mendoza whether it was worth it to shoot his shot. “Uhh…” Ari began. “I mean, I guess I would? I don’t know. I’m like, almost fifteen, so I’m not really thinking about this stuff. I don’t really want a girlfriend right now. But I guess if she didn’t treat me like I was famous, and I liked her, then I would, y’know?” Ari took another scoop out of the ice cream he was eating. It was technically a live mukbang. “It’s actually harder to date when you’re famous. People always think it’s so much easier for me ‘cause everyone loves my acting, but…” Ari paused and grimaced while a chocolatey rocky road slowly melted in his mouth. Then, he swallowed. “Sometimes it’s hard to find people who wanna be your friend ‘cause they like  _ you _ and not because they like the clout you give them.” Then he moved on to the next question.

Dante tried to be good about reminding himself of Ari’s humanity every now and again ever since seeing that livestream, but he could only ever get so good at it. So he had his parents help out.

And Sam and Soledad _ still _ had to help out, even then. “Dante, he’s a young--”

“--boy just like me,” Dante recited from memory, completing his father’s and mother’s favorite sentence. “I know, I know. And I know he doesn’t like people who act like paparazzi. But…” Dante gesticulated with his hands and arms in the air for a few seconds before finally exclaiming exasperatedly,  _ “he’s Ari Mendoza!” _

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, but y’know… opportunities like this don’t just come up for everyone.”

Dante stared at the floor with an irrevocable smile on his face that stood somewhere between excited and pensive.

His father finished the last of his Coke and set it down on the counter, then approached his son to wrap him in a warm hug. “C’mon, Dante. Reach out to the  _ Dance in the Dark _ people. See what happens.”

* * *

Los Angeles was nearly six hours away from the Quintanas’ home in Berkeley. Dante and his parents decided to take a road trip for his audition.

They packed endless snacks, enough bread, ham, and cheese to survive on nothing but sandwiches for a week, and plenty of Coca-Colas before hitting the road. Dante’s stomach twisted more and more with each passing mile as they got closer and closer to the city that was mistaken for California’s capital city far too often. To the city where Ari Mendoza spent a fair amount of his year, every year.

Soledad sat in the passenger seat, next to her husband in the driver’s seat. She leaned over to her son in the backseat. “Want some chips?”

Dante was clutching his stomach, staring out the window with an unreadable expression. “No thanks, Mom,” he breathed.

She reached out and squeezed his hand, which was resting on his knee. “It’s gonna be fine,  _ mijito. _ It really is.”

Dante inhaled and exhaled slowly and methodically. He’d opened up a few breathe-in-breathe-out GIFs he had downloaded to his phone before they hit the open road. Focusing on a circle that gradually expanded only to shrink back down again helped him breathe. Dante was beginning to think he was actually really bad at breathing.

Then he shook Simon Garcia’s hand and knew he was the worst breather in the world. Meeting another gay Latinx writer who executive-produced his favorite show in the world was about to make him sponatenously combust. Dante almost broke down in tears telling Simon how much his work meant to him, but he didn’t.

He auditioned instead, doing what the casting directors told him to. Dante was paired with another auditioner vying for the role of Jaime. The two boys were told to act like a married couple; Dante would have to play the role of “spouse who just found out their partner taped something over their wedding video,” and Dante’s partner played the role of Dante’s spouse who made the mistake of taping something over the wedding video. The casting directors were very clear about the  _ something,  _ in that they weren’t going to tell them what exactly it was. They wanted Dante to be creative.

Oh, and he was.

One of the casting directors was nearly in tears from laughter by the time it was over. Dante wore a proud, wide smile on his face when he finally heard Simon Garcia say, “Cut! That was fucking amazing.” Dante was also told that, regardless of their decision on his casting, he’d be receiving his audition tape in his email at some point, but he wasn’t told when that’d be.

What he  _ did _ receive in his email, however, was a message from NBCUniversal asking for his response to Simon Garcia’s request that Dante Quintana of Berkeley, CA be cast in Season 3 of  _ Dance in the Dark _ within the next 48 hours, or the role would have to be offered to their second choice.

They didn’t even have to wait three minutes for his response: a hyper-enthusiastic “fuck yes”.

Now, tonight, Dante ran around his house like a headless chicken, armed with a camcorder in his left hand and a beauty blender in his right hand. Simon and he had kept in close contact since the casting decision. Dante had nearly a million questions, and that number only multiplied once he received the script for Season 3, Episode 1 of  _ Dance in the Dark. _ Eventually, Simon said to Dante that he was struggling to find an adequate place to host the dinner he would have for the cast of  _ Dance in the Dark _ just before Season 3 began filming. Sam was the first to offer his own home to Simon.

Soledad would be preparing menudo, if it weren’t for the fact that it was Dante’s comfort food and it was all he’d been eating for the last three days. She began making chimichangas out of a stubborn assertion that Dante cannot survive off of menudo for the rest of his life.

“ _ Amorcito, please _ just go get ready and put that camera down,” Soledad said as she was setting the table, placing forks to the left of all the plates and knives to the right. “Don’t tell me you’re going to show all of YouTube that you’re barely dressed like that!” 

The most presentable aspect of Dante was his face, for it was completely doused in cosmetics. Dante was wearing a black collar shirt he had yet to button up or tuck into his matching box-pleat skirt. His socks were also barely put on correctly; not only was he pretty sure that each one was on the wrong foot, but Dante hadn’t yet pulled them up all the way. The young boy also didn’t yet put on any cologne and was a sweaty mess. The all-black clothing didn’t help.

He was going for a Carlos-during-that-one-montage-at-the-mall look from Season 2, Episode 7, but he just couldn’t decide if the monochromatic black look was trying too hard or not. Dante loved color. He oozed color, left it bursting everywhere he went. Dante Quintana was a rainbow incarnate.

Dante went back to the bathroom to set his beauty blender down. “Okay, fine,” he grumbled, stopping the recording and turning off the camera.

“Simon and the cast are presumably gonna be here in five minutes, Dante,” Sam warned his son with two gentle raps at the bathroom door.

“I know!” Dante’s voice was shaky as his fingers fumbled trying to button up his shirt. Once it was finally done, he just tried to shove the hem of the article down his skirt instead of just taking his skirt off and then putting it back on again. He had to whisper instructions to himself as he went.  _ Yank up your socks, Dante. Apply more hair spray, Dante. Brush your teeth like hell, Dante. Don’t get any toothpaste on your fucking shirt, Dante. _ He wasn’t sure if it was himself or his mother saying that last one.

Finally, the doorbell rang, and Dante Quintana looked at himself in the mirror. He’d really tried, with the black makeup and grey lipstick.  _ How was he going to eat without tasting his own lipstick now? _ In less than five hours, his respect for women had grown exponentially after trying to do his own makeup for the first time. He enjoyed watching beauty YouTubers do makeup tutorials in his free time, but he’d never actually attempted one himself.

His skin looked radiant, something he was staunchly proud of. He ran a hand down his stomach and let himself exhale, really exhale for the first time tonight. Dante began to get tired of feeling like he had to hold his breath.  _ Give ‘em hell, Dante, _ was the last command he had to give himself. It may or may not have been verbatim his father’s words just before he auditioned for this role.

Dante opened the door slightly and looked for his father. “Dad!” he whisper-shouted.

Sam turned around and smiled. “You look great,  _ mijo. _ And they’re here.”

Simon held a wrapped gift in his hands as he entered, and Dante could see a crowd of people just behind him. He held his breath once again, in disbelief at the knowledge that the cast of  _ Dance in the Dark _ was standing at his doorstep. Life was crazy, and it only got crazier when Gina Navarro came inside, followed by  _ the _ Ari Mendoza himself, and a young woman with Black skin, pink nails, dark curly hair, and a cute turtleneck that matched her nails holding a Nintendo Switch device and an iPad in the same hand. Aristotle seemed attached to her, stepping towards whomever she stepped towards and not speaking unless she did or said something that prompted it. Dante didn’t recognize her.

Sam and Soledad immediately greeted the four guests with open arms, silently waiting for their son to get his ass over here to greet his new friends. Simon had the biggest smile plastered on his face. “The two of you must be the famous Mom and Dad!” he exclaimed. “Your son is just amazing, and he tells me the greatest things about you. I have to thank you both for raising such a wonderful young man.”

The Quintanas exchanged a look of surprise with each other before hugging Simon again and thanking him. “Thank you so much, Mr. Garcia,” Sam said, shaking his hand.

“Oh, please call me Simon! Mr. Garcia’s my dad,” Simon laughed. “And, uh, everyone else should be arriving shortly. We couldn’t all come in one car, unfortunately.”

Nobody noticed Ari biting down on the insides of his cheeks and silently stewing in perpetual anger, which was probably for the best.

Simon and Dante greeted each other after Simon was let go by his parents, followed by Gina Navarro. She wore her hair down, something she didn’t usually do on  _ Dance in the Dark, _ and immediately shook Sam and Soledad’s hands, as well as Dante’s. “So you’re Dante!” she said. “Simon’s told me about your YouTube channel. I stayed up last night watching, and I just love it. Congrats on seven million!”

Dante almost collapsed and subconsciously squeezed her hand twice as tightly as she did as he shook it. “Thank you so much!”

When it came time for Ari to say hi, he shook Sam and Soledad’s hands with a simple “Hello” and let his manager Jessica do most of the talking. Upon needing to say hi to Dante, he walked past him with a small smile and a nod of his head. “Hey.”

“Hi!” Dante said, waving as if he was a distance away when they were actually just in the same damn room. Dante put his hand down and hugged himself, trying not to smile too wide or look too enthusiastic. “Uh--I love your show.”

Dante almost hit himself upside the head as soon as he said that.

Ari smiled, perhaps even genuinely, before responding with, “Thanks.”

Jessica smiled at Dante and stuck her hand out. “I'm Jessica, Ari's manager.”

_ Oh! _ Jessica puts two and two together, silently realizing the reason why Dante must look surprised is because he didn't recognize her at first. “Oh, hi! It's nice to meet you. I'm Dante.”

Ari opted to sit down at the dinner table, choosing a random spot on a wide end. The regular dinner table and another fold-up table have been pushed up together to form one long one, as if it was a Thanksgiving feast and the entire Quintana bloodline was coming over.

Soledad took the gift box from Simon, and the two adults whispered with each other briefly before Soledad went to go put it in the living room, where everyone would probably go after eating anyway. Dante couldn’t help but stare at the box, wrapped in white paper and a rainbow-colored ribbon. 

Sam got to work beginning to serve everyone, asking Gina and Simon what they wanted to drink, when there was another doorbell chime echoing throughout the house.  _ The rest of the cast must be here, _ Dante thought to himself. He was still somewhat reeling from seeing Ari, the Aristotle Mendoza, the one who played Carlos in  _ Dance in the Dark _ and the little boy from  _ Only Time Will Tell _ , the man whom Dante would let ruin his life, the actual and real and true Ari, in his kitchen. As if it was something they always did. Just chillin’ in Dante’s kitchen. No big deal.

Dante always imagined he’d be incapacitated, but as it turns out, homosexual shock is one hell of a drug.

He decided to stand by his parents as they opened the door again. Just behind Ari. Aristotle Mendoza, the real Ari. He didn’t know where to put his hands. He wanted to keep covering his mouth with them in shock, but they kept falling to his sides. Most of all, Dante wanted to put his hands  _ on _ Ari, but he wasn’t going to. But he could. But he wouldn’t. But he could.

The door opened, and in came the rest of the cast. It was wild how natural everything was, how it felt like any regular family gathering with a ton of Mexicans in one tiny cramped kitchen.  _ Dance in the Dark _ was not a necessarily diverse TV show, but it wasn’t filled to the brim with white people, either. Created by Latinx people for Latinx people, it was a dramedy that delved into the magical world of discovering one’s sexuality in a bilingual, conservative household. Simon Garcia famously based the show on his own life, of course. He once said in an interview with _ Vogue: _ “The character Carlos is really just me, but with a different name. Many of the things you hear his sister and parents and friends say are verbatim what I heard from those same people in my life several years ago.” Occasionally, at the end of an episode, there will be photographs from the events that inspired the episode, often depicting a young Simon alongside his family or friends. Ari doesn’t actually look too dissimilar from a young Simon Garcia. It was one of the biggest reasons he decided to offer Aristotle the role in the first place.

Ari’s TV parents walked through, and hugged Dante’s real parents. On  _ Dance in the Dark, _ they were Maritza and Jorge, a married Catholic couple who were learning to accept their kids Carlos and Ximena, who both turned out to be gay. In the show’s ending credits, they were Monserrat and Joshua, a pair of best friends who sort of hated the characters they portrayed but did an excellent job nonetheless. Both looked shockingly young for their ages, as was the usual for Hispanic adults. The community wore their tendency to never age with the same pride as their nation’s flag. Joshua was 51 and Monserrat was 48, but they were commonly mistaken for early-thirties. Monserrat had long, dark hair, large round eyes, bronze eyes, and a very short stature. Joshua was alarmingly tall in comparison to his TV wife, though according to Ari’s sparse and extremely occasional Tweets, Joshua’s actually shorter now than he was when  _ Dance in the Dark _ began filming. 

Dante hugged them as if they were his own parents when they came to introduce themselves. “We’re so glad you’re joining our cast!” Monserrat said to him, the warmth in her voice just as motherly as it was on television. 

“Thank you so much,” Dante said, his voice wrapping around the 14 letters of his words the same way he’d just wrapped his arms around her.

Ari’s TV parents were followed by the three girls who played Ximena’s closest friends on the show. On  _ Dance in the Dark, _ these girls were the ones who assumed (rather rudely) that Ximena was going to try to get one of Carlos’ friends to ask her out to their school’s winter ball, and didn’t know what to say when she instead walked into the event holding a girl’s hand. They since grew much better and more supportive of Ximena’s sexuality, but the fandom really jumped on their asses for their behavior in that one episode. Dante was a part of that mob, admittedly.

The girls hugged him like an old friend they hadn’t seen in forever and complimented his house. Dante thanked them over and over again, and by the time everyone was sitting at the table, his face was beginning to ache from all the smiling. He was a radiant beam of sunshine in the kitchen. Seldom did Ari ever see someone so genuinely excited over anything anymore. It was almost refreshing, but he knew it couldn’t last. You can only be so happy as a young boy on the set of an internationally acclaimed drama. 

Aristotle thought to himself that maybe he didn’t want to see this soul get crushed by the vigilant eagle eyes of the Internet, of all the networks that broadcast the show and its reruns.  _ Dante Quintana might not belong here, _ he thought.

“Would anyone like to say grace?” Sam asked the table as he sat down, finally finishing serving everyone their food.

Monserrat raised her hand. “I can do it,” she said with a smile.

Everyone joined hands at the table. Dante sat next to Gina and across from Ari. He pondered extending his arm across the table instead of in Gina’s direction, but didn’t.

Monserrat closed her eyes and tilted her head downwards, as did everyone else, just before she began reciting a grace prayer she'd memorized from her childhood in Spanish. Everyone said  _ “Amén” _ in unison just before digging into the chimichangas. 

“Who made these?” Jessica asked as she picked up her silverware. 

“I did,” Soledad said.

Jessica smiled up at Dante's mother as she cut a piece off and put it in her mouth. Her eyes went wide momentarily before swallowing. “Oh my God, it's delicious!”

Ari beside her cuts into his own chimichanga. Some of the chicken inside spills out and onto the plate. He sets his silverware down, and the soft clinking of it against the placemat barely snaps Dante out of his reverie, just about makes him realize that he was creepily staring at Ari across from him, trying to eat his food. Dante clears his throat as quietly as possible so he can dig into his own food.

Ari inhaled through his nose.  _ “¿Hay limón?” _ He'd asked for a lime, throwing the question out to no one in particular. Speaking in Spanish in a predominantly Hispanic environment at a large dinner table was second nature for Ari. He almost forgot about his white cast members and Jessica, who didn't speak Spanish.

Dante handed the fresh lime on his plate that he hadn't squeezed to Ari, and he took it. Ari's dark brown fingers fleetingly brushed against Dante's, and Dante fully expected his fingers to fall clean off his hand. The tiny part of his skin that came in contact with Dante's was noticeably cold. 

Ari murmured a thank you before holding the lime downward and squeezing it into the chimichanga.  _ So Ari likes his chicken with a bit of a flavorful kick. Interesting. _

Ari bit into the food and chewed for a long moment before finally complimenting Soledad in Spanish.  _ “Está riquísima, señora.” _

Soledad smiled at him and responded in Spanish as well. The next few minutes were largely silent as everyone enjoyed the food. Conversation only began once everyone's plates were more or less completely empty.

* * *

The new cast of  _ Dance in the Dark _ —plus Jessica and Dante's parents—moved into the living room after a while, where Simon held a wrapped object in his hands and wore a big smile on his face. “So, Dante,” Simon said, “I really think you’re going to be one of the best additions to the  _ Dance in the Dark _ cast we’ve ever had, and I got you a little something to remember this.” He handed Dante the package, and he couldn’t have possibly opened it fast enough.

Wrapped up in a rainbow ribbon and white wrapping paper was a cardboard box, and inside that was eight boxes, each one containing their own cute little Funko Pop of a different  _ Dance in the Dark _ character. Dante’s eyes lit up and he gasped joyfully as he took them out of their boxes and realized what they were.

On the top layer were Carlos and Ximena, and their parents Maritza and Jorge. Carlos’ Funko Pop wore Carlos’ signature baggy red sweatshirt and torn jeans… which are only considered “signature” because it was the outfit Carlos most frequently wore throughout Season 1. His wardrobe soon became a varied smörgåsbord of whatever the situation called for, much to the chagrin of the unfashionable actor that played him.

On the bottom layer were Funko Pops of Ximena’s best friends, a new character named Natalie, and at the very bottom, there was one last Funko Pop. Tears almost welled in Dante’s eyes when he saw who this was supposed to resemble. “It’s me!”

In his hand, Dante Quintana held a Funko Pop lookalike of himself that was supposed to represent his new character on  _ Dance in the Dark, _ Jaime. He had long black hair and black orbs for eyes, a fair skin tone, and was wearing a rainbow tie-dye T-shirt tucked into blue jeans. 

All eight figurines would add excellently to his collection. Dante once sent Simon a picture of the shelf in his room that held Funko Pops, framed artwork, and other memorabilia from his favorite fictional works and fandoms.  _ Dance in the Dark _ content was, for some reason, severely lacking on the shelf, and no amount of ceiling-to-floor Ari Mendoza posters would make up for it.

Dante stood up and hugged Simon, thanking him a million times over for the gift. Simon reciprocated the hug, squeezing him tight as if he were his own son. When he let go, he said, “Now you have something more to put on your shelves!”

He laughed, sniffling a bit, just before a sick feeling welled up in his stomach and Dante let out an involuntary nervous laugh because of it. He went back to sit down on the sofa.  _ Oh fuck, if Ari Mendoza sees the posters of him that I have in my room… God, he’s going to think I’m so fucking weird…  _ “Thank you, thank you so much,” was the only thing Dante was able to articulate. He badly needed Simon to shut up about his room so that no one would ask to see it. 

Sam seemed to read his son’s inner thoughts, as he clapped loudly and cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “Simon, I do have a few questions for you about my son and the filming schedule. And, if any of you other actors can help me out here, too, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oh, of course!”

A few minutes of conversation between Dante, Sam, Simon, Ari, and Gina, with everyone else popping in with their own questions and additions occasionally, eventually led to Dante and his parents learning that Dante would have to do filming and school at the same time, as he’d have to take five or six months out of the year to shoot the episodes. A tutor would have to come on set to help him complete his schoolwork and homework. During break periods, like the holidays, Dante would be allowed to return to Berkeley and go to school normally for however long he could until he was called back. His parents were always welcome on the set, as well; they could visit anytime, and there was a hotline they’d have to call instead of Dante’s mobile number if they wanted or needed to speak to him at all.

Their conversation eventually led most of the teenagers into the kitchen while the adults stayed in the living room. Dante went to put his new Funko Pops on his bed, and when he came out of the hallway that led to his room, Ari Mendoza was standing at the end, leaning up against the wall and checking his phone nonchalantly. Dante stopped dead in his tracks for a short moment, somehow feeling like he was trespassing in Ari’s house, even though this was his own fucking house.

Ari looked up at him and put his phone in his back pocket. “Hey.”

Dante smiled, but not too wide. He felt like smacking himself across the face.  _ Just act normal! _ “Hi. It’s, uh, really good to meet you.”

Ari smiled without showing his teeth. “You too.”

There was about three or four moments of hopeless silence before Ari broke it: “So you’re a big  _ Dance in the Dark _ fan?”

It was all Ari needed to ask to get Dante going on his tangent. “Oh my God, you have no idea. I came across a GIFset of you and Gina as Carlos and Ximena on Tumblr one day and I started watching the show, and I just fell in love. Like, immediately. It’s so fucking funny but it can make me cry in the same episode, and I’m just…” Dante slowed down to take a moment to breathe. “I just never see stories about teenagers like me who…” He was gesticulating instead of speaking for a few moments. “...who go on this journey of self-discovery. I never see Hispanic teens coming out on TV. And so I’m just really glad that you and Gina are portraying this so excellently for the world to see. I wanted to thank you.”

Ari saw something in Dante’s eyes that was sparkling. Alive. On fire. Instead of shoving a camera in his face, or demanding a selfie or an autograph, Dante was here and he was speaking to Ari about how his TV show helped him and inspired him in his life. There was no immediate evidence that Dante intended to turn this into a viewer-magnet on YouTube, and nothing about his character suggested that his words or feelings were anything but genuine.

Ari didn’t much watch YouTube, and admittedly, he hadn’t seen Dante’s videos ever before. And he still hadn’t gotten around to typing his name into that search bar. Virtually every vlogger Ari watched made him cringe; it just wasn’t his thing. But Dante seemed different. There was a certain amiableness about him that wasn’t present in many other people. Gina, maybe, but she was more like a big sister he tolerated than an actually close friend. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, to put it succinctly, rather  _ interesting _ character that seemed to have wandered into his life and onto his television set out of nowhere. Certainly he was unique, which should’ve been a good thing, as most everyone else he knew was terrible and had ulterior motives, but “different” didn’t immediately mean “safe.” There was more than one kind of “dangerous.”

But Ari never said any of that to him. All he said was, “You’re really welcome. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Ari thought he meant it. Whatever hypothetical speech he had planned to tell this obnoxious camera-fucker off, it seemed to wither away. The young actor thought that Dante Quintana might actually deserve a little warmth from him, even if nowadays he really didn’t have all that much to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you like!! I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter coming soon, hopefully.


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